


Comfort Food

by Lillyjk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint has a shitty day, M/M, Phil cooks comfort food, Slow Build, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you here to shoot me again?”</p><p>Coulson did that little half smile where one side of his lips twisted like Clint was amusing. “No, I'm here to cook you dinner.”</p><p>“Are you going to poison me? Because I'm probably not going to eat it if, you know, it's full of poison.” Clint rubbed a hand along the back of his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Food

 

The first time it happens, Clint is still in his mandatory rotation through SHIELD's operations academy.

 

He thought it was pretty ridiculous that he was required to go through training with a bunch of wet behind the ear wannabe agents, but he'd actually learned a few things in his six week stint there. Most of them had even been useful. Seems like years in the circus followed by years as a freelance mercenary/assassin had left a few holes in Clint's training after all.

 

Garrett, his SO at operations, was pretty much a dick. Clint had worked for a lot of dicks over the years. He'd managed it how he always did, more than a few smart-assed remarks, an impressive display of his marksmanship skills, and playing dumb when all else failed. He didn't particularly like being the butt of the SO's jokes, but shit like that tended to slide right off his back most of the time. Most of the time meaning that sometimes, like today, it touched a raw spot and Clint couldn't just laugh it off.

 

He'd maybe lost it a little, and Garrett had a broken jaw. Clint was confined to quarters, which at operations meant something close to an extended stay hotel or efficiency apartment. He had a tiny bathroom and a kitchenette that opened into a combo sitting room/bedroom. It wasn't particularly comfortable but it sure as hell wasn't the worst place he'd ever called home either.

 

He'd spent the last hour pacing around the small rooms, debating whether he should just make a break for it and leave SHIELD and everything else behind or see what kind of punishment he was due.

 

When the door opened, Clint startled, automatically taking a ready position as he assessed the threat.

 

Only it wasn't a threat, but Coulson standing in the doorway with a bag of, were those groceries? Something green and leafy was definitely sticking out the top.

 

“Sir?” Clint queried. He'd only seen Coulson a handful of times since he brought Clint in. Coulson had been the one to recruit him into SHIELD, if you wanted to count shooting him in the leg and giving him a job offer with jail time as his only alternative as recruitment.

 

“Barton.” Coulson acknowledged, shutting the door behind him and walking into the little kitchenette to set the groceries down.

 

“Are you here to shoot me again?”

 

Coulson did that little half smile where one side of his lips twisted like Clint was amusing. “No, I'm here to cook you dinner.”

 

“Are you going to poison me? Because I'm probably not going to eat it if, you know, it's full of poison.” Clint rubbed a hand along the back of his neck.

 

Coulson snorted and slid out of his jacket. “Relax, Barton. If I wanted you dead, I could have killed you without a stop at Whole Foods first.” He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled them up before reaching up to loosen his tie.

 

Clint couldn't help but notice the efficiency of movements, his eyes lingering on the muscled forearms that Coulson had revealed.

 

“I'm confused, Sir.” And this time he wasn't playing dumb, Clint really was confused. He'd been expecting handcuffs maybe, or even a double tap to the skull. Demerits, frowny face stickers on his chart? He really didn't know how SHIELD functioned yet, but he was pretty sure landing your SO in the hospital was actively discouraged.

 

Coulson set about unpacking the groceries, pulling out a package of stuffed pork chops, the green stuff and what Clint was pretty sure were the makings of mac and cheese. “You're my asset, Barton. I brought you in. I'll be your handler when you go in the field.” Coulson looked up at him, his face downright serene. “I keep tabs on my assets. Kind of thought you might need a little comfort food after a shitty day.”

 

“So you're not here to kill me or lecture me or make me write 'I will not punch my SO in the face' on a chalkboard or something?” Clint asked.

 

“Well, these days it would be a white board, but no, Barton. I'm here to fix you dinner and tell you that you're officially done with your rotation at operations. Garrett had it coming and Fury was actually pretty impressed you stopped at a broken jaw. After we eat, you can gather your gear and I'll give you a ride back to headquarters.” Coulson slid the pork chops into a pan and onto the stove. He pushed the bag of green stuff toward Clint. “Now, wash the spinach.”

 

***

 

 


End file.
